Angels Favorite Dream

15

Osman and Berk expected to see a building for passport processing once they crossed the border. However, all they saw was an endless desert landscape. There was no building, no structure in sight. They looked around in confusion, feeling stranded in the middle of uncertainty. They knew Pakistan wasn't exactly an organized country, but they never imagined they could cross without any passport control.

Osman looked around. "What do we do now? There's nothing here," he said.

Berk, in a slightly tense voice, said, "Let's keep moving; maybe we'll find something," and started walking.

After a short while, a man in local black attire with epaulets on his shoulders approached them. In a stern tone, he said, "Follow me." Assuming he was a police officer, they followed him. After a brief walk, they reached a shack where passport control was being conducted.

They approached the counters one by one. Without asking why they were there, the officer simply checked their visas and completed their entry procedures. The police officer who had brought Osman and Berk there led them outside but disappeared without saying where they should go next.

Osman, overwhelmed by the uncertainty, turned to Berk and asked, "Is there no customs in this country? Is it enough just to get our passports stamped?"

As they were discussing this, another officer approached them and asked them to follow him. They were led to another shack with a sign that read "Customs."

Inside the customs office, a man wearing a baseball cap and local black attire greeted them. Smiling with accented English, he asked, "You're Turkish, aren't you?"

Osman and Berk exchanged a quick glance. Osman joked, "Looks like the intelligence here works pretty well."

Berk smiled at Osman's joke and noticed the "Customs Chief" sign on the desk. He nudged Osman with his elbow and pointed at the sign. "We should probably be a bit more serious," he said.

Seeing the sign, Osman adopted a more serious demeanor and stood in front of the chief. The chief gestured to a worn-out chair, saying, "Please, have a seat."

As the chief continued to busy himself with the paperwork on his desk, Osman and Berk started to feel ignored. They waited, but without knowing why they were being kept there, they began to grow impatient.

Unable to take it any longer, Berk said to Osman, "This guy has no intention of dealing with us. We might as well go outside for a smoke."

Without responding, Osman stood up. Berk turned to the chief and said, "It looks like our process might take a while. Can we go outside for a cigarette?"

Without even looking up from his paperwork, the chief waved his hand, indicating they could step outside. While smoking outside, Osman skeptically said, "This guy is definitely going to ask us for a bribe, just wait and see."

Berk frowned. "Why would he do that? We're not bringing in any commercial goods; we're just two tourists," he said.

When they finished their cigarettes and went back inside, the chief gestured for them to sit and handed them forms to fill out. After completing the forms, they handed them back to the chief.

Berk asked, "Is there anything else we need to do?"

The chief eyed them for a moment, then smiled slightly. "I trust you, so I won't check your bags. There's nothing illegal, right?" he asked.

Berk confidently said, "If you want, we can open our bags."

The chief looked at Berk for a moment, then smiled and said, "Alright, you're all set. Go to the station ahead; they'll guide you there."

Once outside, they couldn’t figure out where the station the chief had mentioned was. Without any signs or directions, they kept walking, unsure of where to go.

Under the scorching desert sun, they continued walking aimlessly when a few men in black local attire shouted from a makeshift shack, signaling Osman and Berk to come over. Berk quickened his pace nervously, glancing at Osman.

"I hope this isn’t the station the chief was talking about," he said sarcastically.

Osman shrugged. "Seeing passport and customs offices here, I wouldn’t be surprised if this was the station."

When they reached the men, a police officer took their passports and handed them forms to fill out again. While glancing over their passports, the officer's expression suddenly changed. "You’re Turkish," he said excitedly, then asked, "Are you Muslim?"

Osman smiled slightly. "Yes, Alhamdulillah, we're Muslims," he said.

Osman, having grown up in a religious region, was more devout and knowledgeable about Islam. Moreover, his religious name made the officers warm up to him. Although Berk wasn't particularly interested in religion and didn't like speaking Arabic, he repeated Osman's response to avoid trouble. "Alhamdulillah, we're Muslims," he said.

Osman and Berk were probably among the rare Western tourists crossing this border. After all, no one would willingly come to such a remote place. And with the option to safely fly, who would choose to travel by road to one of the most dangerous regions in the world?

For this reason, the officers started chatting with Osman and Berk. Despite their broken English, they bombarded them with questions about Turkey.

"What is Turkey like?" one of the officers asked, drawing Osman into the conversation.

Osman replied briefly, "We have beautiful places. The people are hospitable."

However, the officers kept the conversation going, refusing to let them leave. Osman and Berk began worrying about how they would catch the bus to Quetta, scheduled to depart from the border village of Taftan at four o'clock.

Berk started showing his discomfort as the conversation dragged on. He glanced at Osman and said, "Bro, we need to get away from these guys; we're going to be late."

Osman responded with an expression that said there wasn't much they could do.

Unable to break away from the officers and exhausted from the heat, Berk couldn’t wait any longer to change his clothes. He pulled a short-sleeved t-shirt from his bag and changed right in front of the officers. Osman looked at Berk anxiously and said, "Changing here isn’t a good idea, especially if you're wearing something that shows your tattoos."

Ignoring Osman, Berk put on his t-shirt. His tattoos were immediately visible, catching the officers' attention. They stared at the tattoos in surprise, unable to take their eyes off Berk's arms. They began examining Berk’s unusual appearance more closely. It seemed odd to them that someone who had just said he was Muslim would have tattoos, and they insisted on seeing them. Berk, accustomed to people's reactions to his appearance, showed his tattoos without hesitation.

The forced conversation lasted about half an hour. Finally, a police officer asked them to follow him. They trailed behind the officer and arrived at a rundown building with a yard full of junk cars. They were surprised to see that this barely standing structure was a police station. It looked more like a car graveyard.

The officer pointed to some chairs in the yard for them to sit on. The complexity of the entry procedures into Pakistan and the lengthy process were beginning to frustrate them. Berk couldn't help but mutter, "How many more checkpoints do we have to go through?" They were hungry and exhausted. After all, the most one would typically go through when entering a country was passport and customs control. But here, there was a bureaucracy they didn't understand at all.

After a while, another officer approached them. Judging by his epaulettes, they realized he was of higher rank. In accented English, he said, "Welcome to Pakistan, gentlemen," and handed them another form to fill out. Osman rolled his eyes as he took the form. "How many more forms do we have to fill out?" he grumbled.

Berk impatiently asked, "We have a bus at four. When will these procedures be over?"

But the superior officer gave an unexpected response. "You have to stay at the station until the bus departs."

Berk's patience was wearing thin. "We haven't eaten since this morning," he said, unable to hide the tension in his voice. "We know there's a village nearby. Can we go there to get something to eat?"

The superior officer thought for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. I'll arrange for an officer to accompany you. You can go to the village to eat under his guidance."

This response surprised Berk and Osman. Berk frowned and whispered to Osman, "Why can't we go alone?"

The superior officer noticed their confused expressions and added. "This place isn't very safe. For your security, we'll accompany you."

A short while later, a middle-aged officer carrying a Kalashnikov approached them. He didn't speak English but signaled with a gesture for them to follow. The officer led the way, with Berk and Osman following behind, as they left the station and headed toward Taftan village.

As Berk and Osman walked toward the village with their guard, they noticed a group of children following them at a distance. The children kept their distance, not coming any closer. Berk watched them closely and asked Osman, "Why are those kids trailing us like that?"

Osman, in an indifferent tone, replied, "They're just kids. They're probably curious because we're foreigners."

Berk frowned and shook his head. "Good thing we have a guard." Due to the stress and hunger they were experiencing, Berk started to think that something might happen at any moment. Even though they had a guard, he wasn't sure if they were truly safe in this remote village.

When they reached the village, the guard first took them to the office where they would buy bus tickets. The company owner spoke English and greeted them warmly. Berk hesitated a bit before saying, "We're going to Quetta, but we don't have any rupees."

The company owner smiled and nodded. "No problem, we'll sort it out." He made a phone call, and shortly afterward, a black-market money changer arrived. Berk and Osman were momentarily uneasy at the sight of the man. Noticing their concern, the company owner tried to explain, "There's no currency exchange office in the village."

Understanding the situation, Berk and Osman had no choice but to trust the man. Fortunately, Osman had already learned how many rupees equaled a dollar, so they accepted the rate without questioning it.

After exchanging their money and buying their tickets, they started looking for a restaurant. They wandered around the village, not paying much attention to the guard. When Berk found a relatively clean-looking restaurant, he called out to Osman.

Upon entering the restaurant, Berk began examining the food. However, what he saw killed his appetite. Friends who had traveled to India had told him about how dirty the food could be, but he hadn't expected the same scene in Pakistan. The broth of the dishes was so thick that Berk tried to convince himself it was because of the spices used. Since he was hungry, he tried to ignore the appearance.

Osman smiled at Berk. "I'm starving. The spices smell amazing, and the food looks great," he said.

Berk raised an eyebrow slightly. "Doesn't look that way to me. Just looking at that boiled meat makes me think twice."

Just as Berk was about to give up on eating, one of the workers noticed his hesitation and pointed to a large pot. "Biryani. Rice. Would you like some?" he asked.

Berk took a deep breath, relieved to find something familiar. "Yes, I'll take the biryani," he said.

The worker asked, "Do you want chicken with it?"

Thinking the rice was already cooked with chicken, Berk replied, "Sure, make it chicken."

However, the worker picked up a large bucket from the floor and poured pre-cooked chicken over the rice. Berk made eye contact with the worker. To avoid any unnecessary tension, he quietly took his plate and sat down. Osman also got himself a plate of chicken biryani and joined him.

Osman noticed that the guard waiting outside still hadn't come in. He went to invite him to have a meal. The guard initially refused, but after Osman insisted, he accepted a plate of biryani and joined them at the table.

As Berk picked up his spoon, he said sarcastically, "I hope we don't end up in the hospital after this."

Osman nodded with a smile. "It's spicy but tasty. The meat is cooked well, and the spices are balanced. If I were to judge as a chef, I'd say it's pretty good."

After starting to eat, Berk realized it wasn't so bad after all. Since he liked spicy food, it suited his taste. He focused on enjoying the flavor, trying not to think about how it was cooked.

After finishing their meal, they left the restaurant feeling more relaxed. They lit a cigarette and started walking toward the office where their bus was scheduled to depart.

When the bus arrived, Berk's eyes widened. "What kind of bus is this? It looks like something straight out of a movie!" he exclaimed.

The bus was purple and decorated with colorful patterns. It had dozens of sacks piled on top. The crew was loading passengers' luggage inside the bus because there was no room left on top. The bus looked more like it was meant to carry cargo than passengers. Osman chuckled lightly. "What else did you expect in Pakistan?" he said.

Berk turned to Osman excitedly. "Get your camera out! I definitely need a picture with this bus," he said cheerfully.

After taking photos, Berk and Osman sat on a bench in front of the office to watch the loading process. In the meantime, some villagers, curious because they were foreigners, approached them. One man looked at Osman and asked, "Where are you from?"

Osman smiled. "We're from Turkey," he said.

The man's face lit up. "Turkey! The first country to help us during the earthquake! God bless you!"

Osman bowed his head in thanks. The villagers' interest grew, and one of them asked, "Are you Muslim?"

Osman answered without hesitation. "Alhamdulillah." Then they looked at Berk, curious about his response. Berk also said, "Alhamdulillah," trying to avoid their gaze.

However, Berk's tattoos and unusual appearance caught their attention. They didn't seem convinced that he was Muslim. An older man even frowned at Berk and said, "Those tattoos... Does a Muslim man look like this?"

Berk, unsure of what to say, could only stare blankly at the man. Osman tried to ease the situation with an explanation. "Everyone's path is different, but in the end, we're all Muslims."

At that moment, another elderly man, trying to lighten the mood, said, "But the tattoos are really cool," and wanted a closer look at Berk's arm. Seeing this friendly approach, Berk smiled warmly and showed his arm.

As the conversation went on, they tried to understand why they had a guard with them among such friendly people. Since arriving in the village, everyone had treated them kindly. Perhaps this warmth was because of Berk and Osman's relaxed demeanor. Despite having a guard with them, they acted as if he was a nuisance, which made the people feel their sincerity.

When the conversation ended and most people dispersed, they began to get bored. As they sat idly, a vehicle pulled up in front of the office. Two workers came out of the office and started unloading boxes from the car and carrying them inside.

Osman turned to Berk and said, "What are they loading onto the bus? It's been an hour, and they're still not done. Instead of just waiting around, why don't we do something? How about helping those guys with the supplies?"

Berk shrugged. "Help them? Won't they find it weird?"

Osman chuckled. "I think they'll appreciate it. After all, we like to help. At worst, they'll tell us they don't need our help."

Berk hesitated but eventually agreed to Osman's suggestion. They approached the vehicle and asked the workers to hand them some of the boxes. At first, the workers didn't understand why Osman and Berk wanted to carry the boxes. However, when the villagers cheered them on, they realized they were genuinely trying to help. The workers, who had initially been scowling while carrying the boxes, continued their work enthusiastically with Berk and Osman's help.

When it was time for departure, the villagers came to see them off. As Berk and Osman were saying their goodbyes, one of the villagers approached Osman and said, "You two are very different from the other tourists who come here."

Osman looked at him in surprise. "Why are we different?"

The man smiled. "Most tourists are either afraid of villagers like us or look down on us. But you're different; you helped us and spent time with us sincerely, even though you had a guard."

Hearing this, Osman bowed slightly. "We're all human. That's what matters."

When they boarded the bus, Berk and Osman thought the guard would return to the station. However, the guard sat down in the seat next to them. Berk looked at the guard with a confused expression. "Why are you still with us?" he asked.

The guard gave a short response. "Security."

They were aware of the threat of terrorism in Pakistan, and despite the risk, they had chosen to travel by road. But they couldn't understand why having a guard with them was deemed so necessary.

Once the bus started moving, Berk put on his headphones, played some music, and drifted into thought. The woman he loved, Zoe, appeared in his mind again. The danger of the journey no longer mattered to him. He had only one thought: to reach Karachi as soon as possible and see Zoe.

Ten kilometers into the journey, the bus stopped at a checkpoint. The guard signaled Berk and Osman to get off the bus. He led them to a small shack, where soldiers checked their passports and had them fill out forms. The process went quickly, and they returned to the bus. However, at another checkpoint, they had to repeat similar procedures. This time, the soldiers in the shack had bloodshot eyes and were giggling and joking around.

Berk looked at Osman and laughed. "These guys are totally stoned," he said.

Osman noticed too and started laughing. "Seriously, what have they been smoking?"

Seeing people in such a state in a place like this lifted Berk and Osman's spirits. The journey they thought would be dangerous suddenly became entertaining.

At first, they accepted the routine of stopping, getting off, and filling out forms as normal. They assumed the checkpoints would end as they got farther from the border. But as the bus continued to stop at checkpoint after checkpoint, they began to feel uneasy. They were exhausted, and their sleep was constantly interrupted, leaving them unable to rest. Finally, Berk asked one of the soldiers processing their documents, "How much longer will these checkpoints go on?"

The soldier said, "This road is dangerous. For your safety, these checkpoints will continue until you reach Quetta. If anything happens to you, we need to know where you were last seen."

Because of this, they stopped every ten kilometers along the way, repeating the same procedure, and eventually experienced the strangest moment of their journey.

At three in the morning, while Berk and Osman were sleeping, the guard's voice woke them up. "Get up, we're getting off," he said. Still groggy, they gathered themselves and stepped off the bus as the guard signaled for them to bring their bags too. Berk, feeling uneasy, turned to Osman. "Why are we taking our bags off?"

Osman, trying to wake up, said, "Maybe this time they'll check our bags."

However, instead of the usual passport check and form-filling, two soldiers approached and started speaking heatedly with their guard. Osman, worried, moved closer to their guard and asked, "What's the problem?"

The guard said, "Stay," and gestured for Osman to wait while he continued talking with the soldiers. Berk looked at Osman curiously. "What are they saying? Can you understand them?"

Pakistan was a country made up of provinces, and its second official language was English. But now they were in Balochistan, one of the underdeveloped provinces, where even though all the documents were in English, very few people spoke the language. The native language, Urdu, was predominantly used here.

Osman had noticed throughout the journey that Urdu had words similar to Kurdish. So he began to listen to the conversation carefully. Frowning, he said, "I recognize a few words that sound like Kurdish, but I can't understand everything."

Berk, however, was hung up on what the guard had said. Since his English wasn't great, had the guard meant 'wait' when he said 'stay'? Turning anxiously to Osman, Berk said, "Did he mean 'wait' when he said 'stay'? Try to figure it out."

Osman gestured for Berk to be quiet and kept trying to understand the conversation.

Osman was able to make out some of what the soldiers were saying and, with irritation, turned to Berk. "I think we're spending the night here," he said. At that moment, the guard turned to them and said, "Take your bags and follow me."

They took their bags and, as they followed the guard, they saw the bus doors close and it drove away. Berk's voice trembled. "Are they leaving us here?"

Osman was too shocked to respond. In the middle of the night, they had been left in the middle of a deserted area. The guard once again told them to follow him, leading Berk and Osman to a small shack.

Inside, there was an elderly police officer and two more soldiers. One of the soldiers began speaking in broken English. "Road dangerous. You stay here. In the morning, police car take you to Quetta."

Berk's face twisted with worry. "Are they taking us directly to Quetta?"

The soldier smiled, though it didn't seem very convincing. "Yes, yes."

Osman looked at Berk with a troubled expression. "Something's off about this, but there's nothing we can do until morning."

In the dimly lit shack, there was only a table and a few old bamboo mats on the floor. The cold desert winds seeped in, chilling them to the bone. When Berk and Osman realized they would be spending the night on the floor in the cold, a deep unease settled in. They didn't have any warm clothing, and the deserted night looked anything but inviting. One of the soldiers broke the silence and asked, "Would you like some tea?"

Still in shock from the situation, they both declined without even considering how the tea might warm them. They sat in silence, just waiting for time to pass quickly. The cold seeped through their bodies, draining them of the energy to speak.

After a while, one of the soldiers tried to start a conversation. "Where are you from?" he asked.

Osman took over the conversation. "We're from Turkey," he said.

The guard immediately asked the usual question, "Are you Muslim?"

This question had become something they expected every time. This time, Berk answered with slight unease. "Alhamdulillah," he said. Just then, the soldier, who had been scrutinizing Berk since he got off the bus, pointed his flashlight directly at Berk's face.

Berk was uncomfortable with this sudden move, but not in a position to react, he chose to stay silent.

The soldier's gaze continued to make Berk uneasy. As he examined Berk's face with the flashlight, he noticed Berk's earring and asked, "Why are you wearing an earring?"

Berk paused for a moment, quickly weighing his options. Trying not to show his discomfort, he said, "The Ottoman sultans also wore earrings. The sultans who continued the caliphate—even men during the time of the Prophet wore earrings."

However, Berk realized that the soldier's questioning wasn't about religion; there was another meaning behind it. The soldier's gaze seemed to be about gender identity, and Berk understood that, to this soldier, the earring wasn't just an accessory. He thought, "If this guy thinks I'm gay, what could happen here?"

The soldier's voice echoed again, this time with a threatening tone, "Why aren't you sleeping? Don't you want to sleep?"

Berk's fear grew. He shifted his eyes to Osman and whispered, "I just want to get out of here alive."

Osman's face showed worry too, but as always, he tried to appear calm. To ease the tension, Osman asked, "Why are we here? Why are we spending the night here?" Fortunately, this question softened the atmosphere a little.

The soldier calmly replied, "This area is under Taliban threat. The road is not safe."

The word "Taliban" hung in the air. Berk and Osman looked at each other, the same fear in their eyes. They understood how serious the danger was. Berk took a deep breath, but the soldier added what he thought would be reassuring. "You don't need to be afraid. They are Muslims, our brothers. They won't harm you."

The fear inside Berk turned into a dark suspicion with this statement. It was one thing to risk death to reach the woman he loved, but the thought of disappearing in the desert without a trace drained all his courage. In that moment, he wondered, "How much are you willing to risk to reach the woman you love?"

Berk realized he wouldn't be able to sleep. The voices in his head, his fears, wouldn't be silenced. He finally decided to try to calm himself by listening to some music. He looked for an outlet to charge his phone and saw one connected to a battery. At that moment, the soldier who had been fixated on him approached again. Pointing to the elderly officer who had begun praying, he asked, "Why aren't you praying?"

This question cornered Berk. He didn't know how to pray. Just as he was about to admit, "I don't know how to pray," Osman noticed the situation and quickly intervened, "We're travelers," he said. "We're unclean, so we can't pray."

Upon hearing this explanation, the soldier paused for a moment, then looked at Berk with a scrutinizing expression. The suspicion in his eyes showed that he didn't fully believe Osman's words. He gave Berk a look as if to say, "You got away this time," and walked away. Berk took a deep breath. It seemed like he had escaped trouble for the night.

As the night went on and the shift changed, new soldiers brought Berk some relief. He was finally rid of the soldier who had been approaching him with unsettling and inappropriate looks. He hoped he could get some sleep now; he was so tired he could barely stand.

However, one of the soldiers who came on shift was eager to chat with Osman and Berk, ruining Berk's plans to sleep. Three soldiers arrived for the shift, but only one stayed in the cabin and began talking to them. He sat across from them and started, as usual, with the classic question, "Where are you from?"

Osman replied, "We're from Turkey." He watched the soldier's reaction carefully, trying to remain cautious, aware of the tension Berk had experienced.

The soldier's eyes lit up with curiosity. He then asked, "Turks are Muslims, right? Are you Muslim?"

Berk and Osman simply replied, "Yes, Alhamdulillah, we're Muslims." Their answer had become almost a reflex. Fortunately, the soldier didn't delve further into religious matters and instead shifted his gaze to the phone in Berk's hand. The phone wasn't a new model, but it still drew the soldier's attention.

"Nice phone," the soldier said, pointing at it. "Does it have music on it?"

Berk hesitated for a moment, knowing the metal music he listened to could easily be misunderstood here. "The battery is broken," he replied. "It's off right now; it won't charge."

The soldier didn't seem to care about Berk's excuse. "The memory card might work in my phone. Let me see it," he insisted.

A wave of anxiety washed over Berk. The idea of the soldier accessing the music files on his memory card could lead to big trouble. This soldier might start questioning him about his faith like the others had.

Desperately hoping that the card wouldn't work in the soldier's phone, Berk removed it and handed it over, his heart pounding. The soldier inserted the card into his own phone and stared at the screen in silence for a while. "I don't think there's any music on here," he said finally.

Berk was just beginning to relax when, suddenly, a song started playing. It was a heavy metal track he had recorded with his old band, and it filled the cabin. The intense guitar riffs and harsh vocals echoed through the room, and fear gripped Berk. He was worried that the music might be misunderstood and provoke a negative reaction. The look of surprise on the soldier's face made it clear that this music was unexpected.

Berk panicked, unsure of what to do. Trying to gather himself, he said, "I don't know how that song got on the card." But this lie only heightened his internal conflict and fear. His voice was shaky, and he doubted how convincing his lie was. Even he found it hard to believe, but he couldn't think of any other explanation at that moment.

To Berk's relief, the soldier simply smiled. Handing the card back, he said, "No problem." Then, he turned on his own music and began playing it.

Berk took a deep breath, relieved to have escaped the situation without more trouble. Slowly, he lay down next to Osman and closed his eyes. Fatigue weighed heavily on his body, and within minutes, he drifted into a deep sleep.